Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [153]
He roared; I didn't wait to hear what.
I clapped my heels to the Bastard's flanks, and his gait moved smoothly from a canter to a full-out gallop. Together, we raced across the dark pasture.
There was an abandoned torch burning at the first gate, the butt-end wedged in a crevice in the cobbled stone fence. The gate itself stood open, and we passed through it without slowing. It seemed like a great deal of time had passed, too much time, but midway across the second pasture, I caught up with the others.
Our drovers were anxiously herding cattle through the second gate, while Urist and his warriors held Leodan's remaining outnumbered horsemen in an uneasy standoff.
I slowed the Bastard to a walk. "Hello, lads.”
Someone whooped.
Urist gave me a wary smile. "You're here.”
"No thanks to you." I eyed him. "Let's get these cattle home, shall we?”
He made a fist, pressing it to his brow, then his heart. "Aye, my lord.”
I should have been angry—I was angry—but at the same time, I understood. This was Alba. I'd needed to prove myself to my allies as surely as my enemies. I gazed at Urist and saw him, truly saw him. He was a proud man, and he needed to serve a lord he could admire. Drustan was one such; even serving the ollamh Firdha had been an honor, albeit one he hadn't sought. He was no fool—he'd known Leodan of Briclaedh wouldn't want to kill me and risk the wrath of Terre d'Ange. Still, he'd been willing to take the chance of humiliating me.
I could call him on it and earn his resentment.
Or I could accept the jest and keep his respect.
I chose the latter.
After all, we'd prevailed; and if no one had earned his warrior's mark in the process, no one had died, either. That pleased me. So we sent Leodan's last men packing—I daresay they were glad enough of the excuse—and hustled Briclaedh's cattle through the second gate, closing it behind us.
Urist didn't think there would be further pursuit, or at least not that night. We were armed and moving swiftly in the near-dark. If Leodan meant to retaliate, he would wait. But as a precaution, I ordered Kinadius and a sensible veteran named Timor to lag behind and keep watch. The rest of us hurried onward, herding our reluctant charges. By daybreak, we'd have crossed Clunderry's northern border.
Despite the foolishness of it all, I had to own, I felt good. My blood was singing in my veins; I felt more alive than I had in weeks. At Kinadius' prompting, I told the story of how I'd foiled Leodan's attempts to take me hostage, giving all the credit to the Bastard. I forgave their role in it and enjoyed their laughter and admiration, listening idly as they began to invent poems to describe the night's adventure.
I wondered what Sidonie would make of it.
Like as not, she'd think it was ridiculous; and she would be right, of course. Still, I thought, she was a woman. She would give me a warrior's welcome. I could nearly see her face, torn between disparagement and desire. Desire would win, of course. Ah, Elua! I dreamed about it as we rode, letting the Bastard dawdle, letting the others set the pace. Coming to her bedchamber, rank with sweat and besmirched with mire and cow-dung.
It wouldn't matter. It wouldn't.
Sidonie might laugh; she would laugh. The thought of it made my heart soar. But if I pressed her, if I laid my filthy hands on her and undid her stays, laying her bare, her black eyes would turn soft and blurred. My fingers would leave marks on her creamy skin. Her mouth would seek mine, begging wordlessly, her thighs would open…
"Imriel.”
Morwen's voice roused me from my waking dream.
I was in the woods.
Alone.
Ice water trickled down my spine. "What?" I whispered. "What is it?”
Moonlight scarce penetrated the dense foliage. I could make out Morwen's pale eyes, the shape of her hand lifting as she clutched the leather bag at her throat. "You summoned me.”
"No," I croaked. "No, I didn't.”
"You did." Her fingers tightened. I groaned. "Dismount.”
I obeyed helplessly.